


The Ones Born for Battle

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [39]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gen, Marriage, Mostly worry, Plotty, Scheming, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worried about his family, Byakuya proposes a solution to Hisana.  Renji and Rukia worry about what is in store for Soul Society and their friends in the World of the Living.  Soifon delivers some problematic news at the Captains' Council.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones Born for Battle

 

It has become their ritual. Midday she comes to take lunch with him. In her hands is a lovingly made bento box, he assumes. He never opens it. Not once in the last two weeks. Instead, he lets her into his quarters. He closes the door behind him, locks it tight, and he takes the box from her. He feels its weight in his hands. It is quick, but it is decided when he places the box on a nearby table.

Greedily, he takes her deeper into the room, where the light is dim, and the linens are fresh. Hungry, he peels back her many layers between kisses and caresses. Between heavy, drumming heartbeats, between heavy breaths, and between the silks and the sheets, he finds her.

It is only for an hour. Never longer. Never shorter. But, for that hour, he finds himself. He finds peace, comfort. Muscles, abused from long hours on the training field, become unknotted as he takes her, as he holds her close. The all-consuming worry that haunts the halls of his mind melts away, like a passing nightmare.

For an hour, it is just him. It is just her. It is just perfection.

This afternoon is no different. Once the tumult is over, they lay tangled together. Skin against skin. Their heartbeats syncopating. Silence, an old friend, envelops them like a comforting blanket.

Her breath is warm as it ghosts across his chest. And, through heavily lidded eyes, he watches her. She is milky skin, long black tresses, and pink cheeks. The delicate fragrance of white plum is made decidedly muskier after their love-making. She smells of him. He smells of her.

He inhales a deep breath and closes his eyes.

In his wildest youth, his greatest fear was failing to live up to expectations, whether that be saying the wrong thing, displaying the wrong emotion, or losing to that insufferable demoness.

When he lost his father, his heart hardened. It wasn't intentional. In fact, he barely noticed it at all.

When his grandfather passed, he became more remote. An early frost encased him. Fear no longer stirred his heart. The clan was strong, and he was capable enough to lead it to its next generation. Even in his absence, the Kuchiki would survive. He was sufficient, not necessary.

When he met Hisana, he truly believed he had found redemption. There was hope. It needled him, causing him to question his prior assumptions. Perhaps, with her by his side, the world was not so stark, not so well-defined, not so unfeeling.

Perhaps there was a life worth preserving. Perhaps there were actions he needed to take to protect the one he loved. Perhaps there were things to fear. There were, perhaps, even things that were beyond his control.

Now, the fear is constant, overwhelming. He has so much to lose, so much to protect. Never before had he feared his own demise, but now….

_Who will protect his family in his absence?_

"You seem worried," Hisana murmurs, voice soft, almost a whisper. She pulls closer, hoping her warmth will ease his tortured thoughts.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tucks her head under his chin. The words never come. No matter how hard he searches for the Right Thing to Say, he cannot find it. His denial is not so complete that he fails to realize this failing of his, a failing that grows with each passing day.

But, how can he tame these feelings?

If this was a physical weakness, he would cut off the offending limb and be done with it. But, this isn't a physical weakness, and he can't excise these feelings.

"What if I spirited you and the children away some place safe? Some place no one could ever find you. At least, until the defectors were brought to justice."

She stirs in his arms. He feels her muscles go taut, then rigid. She fights her inner disdain at such a compact. But, she does not speak her protest. She remains still. Quiet. She does not move for what feels like a small eternity.

"I understand," she consents in a small, broken breath.

He knows she does not want to go into hiding. He knows she wants to stand by his side, no matter the outcome. But, he also knows that his wife is a practical woman. She is quite aware of the opposition's cunning. Aizen would not think twice to strike at an opponent's weakness, and Hisana would never put her husband at a disadvantage on the battlefield to satisfy her own pride.

She loves him.

Tenderly, he kisses the top of her head and inhales a fragrant breath. White plum and almonds. His arms tighten around her, and they stay intertwined a few moments longer.

* * *

"How come you never eat with your captain?" Rukia asks between bites of her sweet dumpling. Speckles of rice catch in the corner of her mouth as she asks the question.

Renji bristles at her question. To his ears, it sounds more pointed than Rukia intends. "Why don't you eat lunch with _your_ captain?" he parrots back, defensively.

Rukia shrugs. "He takes lunch with Sister."

" _And_ ," Renji says, raising his brows skeptically.

Rukia frowns.

"Don't tell me you're still mad at them?" he asks in astonished disbelief. "Get over yourself."

This does not go over well with Rukia. In hindsight, Renji completely gets _why_ it doesn't exactly ingratiates himself to her.

"Don't be so ignorant!" she chastises, smacking his arm with the tip of her skewer. "It's not like _your_ family decided to toy with your feelings just to get the upper hand politically."

Renji makes a noise that falls somewhere between the sound of a scoff and an audible eye roll. "Sorry, _princess_ ," he teases, which only makes matters worse.

A dark cloud falls across her features. Her lips press together in a compact line. Her eyes narrow.

It's not like he will ever _get it_. To be put through that sort of emotional agony for _effect_. She had been played, pure and simple, by the very souls she trusted.

 _Sure_ , Brother and Sister gave their best mea culpas. They figuratively prostrated themselves for her benefit. They hoisted themselves on their own petards _, yada, yada, yada_.

S _ure_ , she could tell they meant it. All the apologies from Sister. All the rigid logic from Brother. It was all heartfelt. The reasoning was sound. They were both sincere in their affect.

 _Sure_ , she'd finally get around to forgiving them. Maybe not today. Probably not tomorrow. But, soon. Or, soon-ish. When the pain wasn't so fresh. When there was a little more time for her to process their scheme and the direness of the circumstances that drove them to take such drastic actions.

Rukia would get there.

Someday.

"And, it's not that anyway," she counters, jerking her chin up and to the right, as if Renji's stupidity was _visible_ and _garishly so_.

He cocks a brow. _Try me_ , his expression seemingly announces.

So, she does just that. "Brother and Sister take lunch in the barracks," she replies, a suggestive air about her as she straightens her back and lifts her head up, as if she can mask her own inexperience behind a feign of worldliness.

Renji stares at her, askance. It doesn't quit dawn on him. Not at first. For a solid minute he struggles to understand her very obvious, but very unspoken implication.

" _Oh_ ," he murmurs, voice drawing out the last syllable like air out of a leaky tire. A scandalized leaky tire.

"Shh," she hisses and lightly digs an elbow into the side of his ribcage. "We're in public!" she whispers, voice edging on a shout.

Renji yelps at the sharpness of her elbow and rubs his side with the heel of his palm. "Jeez, they do have kids together. I think we all kind of assume that they—"

"Say the words, and I will punch you," Rukia interrupts him, half in jest, but mostly in earnest.

In playful surrender, he raises his hands up and gives a small chuckle. "Okay, okay, okay."

They both chuckle, lingering the playful nothingness that comes so infrequently _now_. Now that the world has become a little darker. Now that the situation has become a little more dire.

They are suspended in a rare moment of unadulterated bliss. What the next moment holds? Who knows? The entire Soul Society steals the moments, brief and finite, between the uncertainties, as if they are all balancing on a razor thin tightrope over jagged cliffs. One wrong move and death, swift and instant.

It's no way to live. Constantly monitoring your six. Constantly watching your comrades' blind spots. Constantly training, hoping for Better and praying that Better is Good Enough.

Who the fuck are they kidding?

It's Aizen.

It's Ichimaru.

It's Tousen.

It's mostly Aizen, though.

Renji's Better isn't Good Enough. Rukia's Better isn't Good Enough. Hell, most of the captains' Better isn't Good Enough. Not against Aizen, and whatever he's cooking up in Hueco Mundo.

As the tension creeps back, curling up between them like a chummy housecat, the smile lines around Renji's eyes fall, and the worry lines in his forehead reappear.

Rukia's lips slope, and she takes a sip of her tea. Then, that thousand-mile-stare of hers catches in her eyes, and it won't let go. She's so unflinchingly focused. On what? Renji assumes she thinking in the abstract, putting the Big Picture together. She's good at stuff like that. Him? Not so much.

"So, what about Orihime?" his voice lowers a few octaves, and there's a gravel to it.

Rukia's gaze sinks to the ground, and her lips purse together. She is parsing her words, and she only parses words when the news is unsatisfying. "She is strong, but her resolve…." her voice trails into the distance.

Renji leans back on the back of his forearms, and his lips pull to the side. Just as he thought. Orihime is more than she knows, but she lacks confidence. "What next?"

"Well, she can't go back to The World of the Living," Rukia murmurs and takes another sip of her tea. "Maybe she can do it."

"And if she can't?"

"Then, at least we tried." The words strangles on the defeat in Rukia's voice.

"What do we do about the others?" Renji cocks a brow, and a lopsided smile pulls at the corners of his eyes.

Rukia tilts her head as she considers his implication. "If I had to make my bets, I think we will see them again. Real soon."

"Thought so," he muses, eyes set on the horizon. He isn't going to say it. It would be too _embarrassing_ and borderline seditious, but he thinks it nonetheless: Ichigo's Better would probably be Good Enough.

* * *

The First's chambers are dank, cold, and musty. The lighting is dim, as if the space is just too expansive to properly illuminate. A small rectangle of sun floods through the agape doors, bouncing off particles floating through the air.

In perfect formation, the faithful captains gather to learn whatever information the second has secured from its efforts to discern the traitors' motives and whereabouts.

The Captain-Commander begins, his voice a low, ominous rumble, like rolling thunder, "Captain Soifon."

She stands ramrod straight, chest raised, shoulders back, and head held high. "We have confirmation that the defectors remain in Hueco Mundo; however, they have been sending hybrid hollow-like creatures to Soul Society and The World of the Living. We have not been able to capture one of these creatures yet, but our preliminary surveys suggest that these creatures are meant to collect data."

"Spies, in other words?" Ukitake interjects, voice ushering a sense of calmness.

Soifon shoots the Captain of the Thirteenth a sidelong glance. "Yes. These creatures are becoming increasingly sophisticated."

"What does that mean?" the Captain-Commander inquires, voice skeptical.

"They possess the ability to reason heretofore never encountered. Their reiatsu, too, is very high. They are capable of routinely felling unranked foot soldiers without much trouble. We believe Aizen may have access to some power arcana, similar to the Orb of Distortion that we currently possess. However, we would need to send a squad to Hueco Mundo to be sure of that."

"Is that your recommendation, then, Captain Soifon? Send a squad to Hueco Mundo?" Again, Captain-Commander Yamamoto does not sound entirely convinced of this strategy.

"We do not possess enough intelligence to make a recommendation," Soifon replies, bowing her head respectfully. "However, we make have uncovered other, more troubling information," her voice grows darker, and her eyes remain rooted to the floorboards.

"Go on," Yamamoto sternly encourages.

"The monitors we have throughout the districts have picked up odd power signatures."

"Odd power signatures?" Yamamoto repeats, not quite understanding the import of this information.

"Yes." Soifon lifts her head and locks her gaze on the Captain-Commander's socked feet. "Quincy power signatures. Multiple Quincy power signatures."

"That's impossible," Ukitake announces, brows knitting together.

"Indeed," Yamamoto states, agreeing with his protégé's assessment, "most of the Quincy were decimated eons ago."

"Not according to the information that we've compiled."

Silence rips through the chamber, and on its heels is a penetrating chill.

"So we're talking about a war on two fronts?" Kyōraku breaks the silence with an amused air and a quirked brow.

"Worst case, we're talking about a potential war on two fronts," Soifon responds, complexion pale and expression deathly serious.

A low rumbling chuckle shakes the chamber as if a small earthquake is running its fingers across the ground. Then, the Kenpachi speaks, a violent glint catching in his eye as the words take form, "Sounds like _fun_."


End file.
